One week ago today I was in a dry, hot, smelly, dirty place where I was asked to pray over a boy that was about twelve years old.
To pray that he would start obeying his single mother that had three other children.
As I started to pray I had to hold back the tears. Tears of sorrow. Tears of anger. Tears of joy.Tears of fear.
Sorrow because I felt bad for this boy and the life that he had.
Anger because I didn't blame him. He deserved to act out because of what he lives in EVERYDAY.
Joy because he has a future in Christ.
Fear because they were looking to me for answers. For the first time I saw people looking at me as a missionary.
I will be honest I do not consider myself a missionary.
I just feel like a normal 21 year old girl following her Lord.
I don't feel like my prayers are anything big and even sometime feel like they are not heard(even though HE is showing me MANY answered prayers).
When Peruvians look at me I can see the looks of hope.
Hope that I am going to change their lives.
Hope that I am going to care enough not to leave one day.
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